


whisper to you

by ivelostmyspectacles



Series: TMA High School AU [7]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship/Love, Gen, Grief/Mourning, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-17 00:43:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20612105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivelostmyspectacles/pseuds/ivelostmyspectacles
Summary: The culmination of Danny's death; ie Tim Stoker finally grieves.Set followingworth the weight in gold. Post high school.





	whisper to you

His fault.

He really wasn’t paying much attention to what he was doing, save absorbing the words on the newspaper held, folded, in front of him. Tim had really come through on this one, supplementing Jon’s earlier research by finding the actual article from the sixties. And he absolutely cannot wait to finish off the project and send it over. He’s trying to make an impression here. Tim mentioning he thought Jon could move up here in the Institute had given him ideas, a bit.

Nowadays, Tim’s not the only one who’s been throwing himself into work.

So indulged is Jon that he doesn’t notice his chair’s too far from the desk until it’s spinning across the hardwood, and he’s on the floor instead. It takes a second for him to realize that the chair had _ rolled away _ from him before he could sit on it, because, well, _ he’s on the floor, _ but the rational explanation is just… there, and _ ridiculous. _

Tim’s staring at him, wide-eyed with the same kind of surprise Jon thinks is on his face. He hurts, a bit. His wrist is stinging. The newspaper is, somehow, balanced on the edge of the desk, at least. 

Abruptly, Tim bursts into laughter.

If Jon wasn’t startled before, he is now. Falling on his arse is one thing, but it’s been going on two months since Danny disappeared, and he hasn’t seen Tim laugh like this since… since… God, he doesn’t know when. It’s been a long time.

Something about uninhibited laughter just takes the past couple months away from Tim. Yes, Jon’s seen him laugh since he’d joined up at the Institute. Jokes here and there, trying too hard to just _ get on. _ But it had seemed to help, anyway. He’d been smiling. And he’d been smiling when they’d had sex, and that had been nice, but this? This is a whole different kind of amusement, and Jon’s just staring up at him.

He looks so very… carefree, laughing like this.

“Jon, you– _ Christ,” _ Tim splutters. “Are you– are you o–okay, ha–”

Jon thinks he ought to be _ offended; _ for all Tim knows, he could _ actually _ be hurt. He is a little hurt, actually, he thinks he bent his wrist the wrong way when he’d fallen or something. But the tiny throb in his wrist is nothing compared to the way his heart is twisting in his chest, and Jon is not usually prone to that kind of… overemotional comparison. That romantic fluff has never been for him. But he’d take another tumble if it meant Tim got to laugh at him like that.

“Are you–” Tim takes a step forward, stopping at the side of the desk. And he just stares, and laughs, and his eyes look damp from the strain of the laughter. “Are y–” He can’t even get the question out.

Jon has to put on a good front, so he does. “It’s not _ that _ funny,” he finally says. It’s true, because it’s _ really _ not that funny.

But Tim just laughs like it’s the most hilarious thing he’s seen in weeks– Jon tries not to linger on the fact that that’s probably true– and then slaps his hand over his mouth when the laughter turns to a snort and there actually _ are _ tears of mirth starting to fall.

_ “Tim.” _ Jon sighs, mockingly testy as he is, but… how could he be mad? He isn’t. He doesn’t think it would be possible, watching him laugh like that. He just looks so _ happy. _Jon misses that. 

“S–Sorry, I’m j–just– um. Wow. Heh. Your face– haha–”

“What do you _ expect, _ I didn’t think I’d end up on the _ floor–” _

That just sets Tim off further, and any hope of getting him back in the immediate future is _ gone. _ Jon scowls, and pushes himself up from the floor, but… it’s fine. One time he doesn’t mind someone laughing at him (okay, he minds a _ little, _ because it is a little embarrassing. But that’s okay.)

“This job is dangerous,” he mutters, halfhearted.

_ “Yeah,” _ Tim wheezes, slouching against the wall. “Because spinny chairs are _ s-sooo _ dangerous, Jon–”

He lets him laugh. And in the meantime, he makes a point of being stiff about grabbing the chair to pull back up to his desk, and sitting down in it properly, and grabbing the newspaper from the desk to keep reading it. It’s not like he can actually focus, but he’ll give it a go.

Surprisingly, he does manage to sink back into the research. Or maybe not so surprisingly, seeing as how he can be taken in by the tiniest detail, but he does, just enough, to be able to tune out the giggling Tim’s doing from the other side of his desk.

Except… it’s closer to something else now. Not giggling. _ Gasping? _ Jon frowns over the newspaper and glances over the top fold at Tim. If he’s _ hyperventilating _ over Jon missing his chair, he’s really never going to let him live it down. But it’s not that. It’s… too choked, and there are still tears on Tim’s cheeks, still fresh as they roll down his face and he chases them away with his fingers, but he’s decidedly _ not _ smiling anymore.

The wet laugh turns to a sob, and Tim turns his face into the crook of his arm, and all but collapses in a heap to the floor.

Jon’s stomach swoops as Tim slides down the wall, and then he utterly freezes when Tim puts his face in his hands to _ cry. _

God. It’s all catching up, isn’t it? Here, and now, and… 

Jon has never seen Tim cry like this. Or at all. Okay, he’s seen him a little teary over certain movies and stuff, but not… _ this. _ Not this level of grief finally boiling over, uninhibited laughter triggering a different kind of release of emotion, and Tim’s shoulders are physically shaking. Jon’s frozen in his stupid rolling chair, just… watching Tim fall apart.

Oh, this is so, _ so _ wrong.

Tim’s already gasping for breath, and he’s only just curled half over with his face hidden in his hands. It’s weeks and weeks of terrible, mind-numbing _ anguish. _ Right. Tim’s hugging his knees to his chest and burying his face in his arms and looking so _ small _ that it makes Jon’s breath catch in his throat, too.

He… he doesn’t know what to do.

It’s terrible, but he doesn’t; it takes a few seconds that are probably too long before he hesitantly pushes away from his desk, and slowly makes his way over to Tim. This isn’t the same situation like anything they've had to experience. This is all so very unprecedented. Jon gnaws at his lip, uncertain and unhappy, and then carefully folds himself down to sit next to Tim.

He doesn’t know what to say. So he just… sort of leans his shoulder against Tim’s, and hopes that counts for _something._ _(God,_ he doesn’t know. He just knows nothing can really make it better, not with the way Tim and Danny had been; part of Tim’s been ripped away from him and he’d been so overly protective of that part that… nothing can help. Nothing.)

Tim heaves, and then, under his breath and vehement, curses. _ “Fuck.” _ An audible swallow, and then he turns and buries his face against Jon’s shoulder. “Fuck, I don’t… want to fall apart at t–the _ goddamn Magnus Institute–” _ His voice is garbled. He reaches over to brace a hand on Jon’s knee, and tucks himself closer. Like he’s… still trying to keep himself together, Jon guesses. 

But that’s a lost battle They both know it.

There’s no keeping it together, not like this. Not here. Jon looks at the mess of Tim’s tousled hair, and then his office, and out into the archives. Files and boxes of forgotten cases and people, stories for them to read but experiences passed. Ghosts. Jon feels himself shiver, and hesitantly turns his face into Tim’s hair, then. “It’s not a very nice place, is it…?” he murmurs, and Tim gives a sharp, short noise that is probably meant to be laughter.

Jon doesn’t know what else to say, which is probably just as well. Tim doesn’t seem to be able to _ talk, _ just then. There’s absolutely going to be a wet spot on his jumper where Tim’s… sobbing into it, but… well, he just hopes he doesn’t cry so hard he throws up. Jon’s done that with his panic attacks, and tears and snot are bad enough. Jon doesn’t say this out loud, though. He’s not _ completely _ hopeless with comforting people, even if he is… not great at it.

“Tim…” He curls a hand around his shoulder, and squeezes. “I’m going to get some tissues.”

“No, just–” Tim swallows again, and then slides his arm around Jon’s chest. “Just _ stay. _ Still. For– for five fucking seconds, Jon. I–I just…” He trails off. Just shakes his head slightly, and Jon watches as his fingers constrict around his jumper.

“… alright.” 

He doesn’t know how to handle him like this. He’s never _seen_ him like this. And he knows Tim absolutely does _not_ _want_ him to see him like this. Probably, he doesn’t want anyone to see him like this. Because Jon wouldn’t, if it were him. He glances up from staring at Tim’s hand, skin pulled taut across his knuckles, to glance towards the open doorway. He… really hopes no one comes looking for either of them, right now.

No one does.

Jon wonders if it feels like hours to Tim, too. No… it probably feels like a lifetime to him. But he does eventually settle, gasping himself into a silence that gets more and more strained. That whole ‘not wanting to break down here’ thing, Jon supposes. It’s _ awkward _ now, as Tim hiccups softly in the silence and neither of them say anything.

Tim’s the one who eventually breaks the quiet. He doesn’t move, much, just releases the crumpled bit of Jon’s sweater he’s been clutching to stealthily wipe at his eyes. “… sorry.” There’s no deflection. No embarrassed laughter. Just a breathless apology, and a small sigh at Jon’s shoulder. “’m sorry.”

“For what?” Jon decides he’s going to slip his fingers into Tim’s hair, if only to sort of smooth it out of his face when he finally decides to lift his head. But he doesn’t really get that far, because his wrist _ twinges _ as he moves it, and he can’t stop the tiny noise of pain that follows. He’d known it was _ hurting, _ but he hadn’t thought it was anything _ pertinent. _

“What?”

“Nothing.”

The knee-jerk response seems to distract Tim more than anything. He pulls back, finally relinquishing his hold on Jon entirely. He only moves enough to be able to _ look _ at him, and… his eyes are all red, and puffy, and his cheeks are still damp even as he scrubs his sleeve across his face. Sniffs and looks at Jon a little more critically. “Why’d you make that noise? I do something?”

“No.”

“Then you… you really _ did _ hurt yourself when you fell.”

Right on the mark. Not that there were very many options to begin with. But Jon sighs, and relents, because Tim’s not going to be deterred now. “Maybe a bit.”

“Where did you– ugh.” Tim scrubs his nose on his sleeve. “Sorry, I’m just–”

“Tissues,” Jon repeats, and since Tim isn’t holding onto him this time, goes to collect the travel package of them from his desk drawer. “Here, Tim.”

“Thanks.” Tim glances at him, not exactly at his face. Some point about his ear, maybe. Not exactly meeting his gaze. This is one of the few times Jon can count that Tim’s been awkward enough _ not _ to look directly at him. Then his eyes drop to look at Jon’s shoulder, and his lips drag into a tiny frown. “I’ll pay for the washing,” he mutters, and gestures vaguely at the earlier predicted wet spot on Jon’s sweater. “Or dry-cleaning. You probably have all dry-clean only.” If it’s meant to be a joke, it doesn’t really make it there, but Tim turns his head to blow his nose, and Jon just shrugs.

“It’s okay.”

“Yeah, right.” He wipes his nose and finally looks back at Jon again. “So, what hurts? What did you hurt?”

Amazing, how quickly he just… jumped back. Jon knows Tim worries about _ all _ of them, but… honestly, he’s been _ grieving. _ Actually sobbing for the past five or so minutes, looking like he’s been through hell (he has) and he’s so intent on asking Jon about his dodgy wrist. “You don’t need to take care of me, Tim.” _ You should probably take care of yourself. _ He leaves that bit unspoken.

Tim probably hears it, anyway, but he shakes his head. “No, but I wanna. What hurts?” he repeats, and Jon sighs again.

“Just my wrist.” He holds up his hand. “Nothing, probably. Just twisted it–” But Tim’s already fumbling at the buttons at Jon’s cuffs, determined. Jon doesn’t say anything about how his fingers are still shaking.

Tim, however, _ does _ have something to say about Jon’s wrist, though. “Jesus, Jon.” It’s already a little swollen, Jon realizes with a start, and he pulls his arm back from Tim to prod at it.

“Oh.”

_ “‘Oh?’ _ You didn’t, what, _ notice?” _

“Not really,” he admits. But he’s always had a bit of a high pain tolerance, so it’s not a surprise.

Now it’s Tim’s turn to sigh, small and shaky. “You need ice on that.”

“And we both need tea.” Jon straightens up. That’s something he can do. “I’ll make tea.” Because that had kind of become the go-to thing for comfort, ever since Jon had become friends with Martin. He’d never drank so much tea before then. Not that he didn’t like it or anything, but… comfort came with a cup of tea from a friend. That was what Martin had taught him, over the years. So Jon was good at that. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“You can’t carry two mugs with that wrist.” Tim scrubs the heels of his hands into his eyes, and drags his hands down his face. “I’ll come, just… yeah, give me a sec.”

No one would say anything if they saw Tim with red eyes. Everyone here had apparently been gossiping about ‘that Stoker boy’ when Tim had first started here, so it wasn’t like everyone didn’t _ know _ Tim was going through a lot. But still, Jon affords him another few seconds to collect himself the best he can, scrubbing away the remains of the traces of tears.

If he keeps his head down on the way to the break room, anyway, Jon doesn’t say anything about that, either.

It’s new territory. Jon prepares tea for the both of them, and they both sit with two makeshift ice packs as they wait for it to brew. Jon with one balanced on his wrist, and Tim alternating putting the cold on his eyes to _ “get rid of the evidence.” _ Another weak joke. Jon takes it, though.

They’re quiet, then, for awhile. He thinks Tim looks exhausted, and both of them get overly interested in their tea when another co-worker (Jon doesn’t know their name) comes in to zap their lunch in the microwave.

Jon drinks some more of his tea, and eventually breaks the silence when they’re alone again. “… do you feel better?” It is wholly inadequate, and Tim snorts softly.

“Do I _ look _ like I feel better?” he says, and Jon can’t help but almost smile because now _ that _ sounds like Tim. “I… I dunno, Jon,” he continues, softer. Stares into his mug of tea and shrugs, minutely. “I’m… maybe? Yeah? I’m just… tired, now. I think.”

“You should go home.”

“I… yeah.” Tim slumps a little, in his chair. “Probably. God.” He leans forward to put his face in his hands again, and doesn’t look back up at Jon. “That’s… that’s the first time I’ve been able to cry, you know.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm. I’ve… thought it might help, yeah? But I just haven’t really been able to… to…” He waves a hand a bit, and then drags his fingers through his hair. “… let go, I guess. I dunno. Ugh.”

“Yeah?” Jon repeats again, and then clears his throat. That explains some things, he thinks. Tim getting more and more short during the past couple weeks, with everyone. More moody. Which had been fair. Not _ good _ ways of coping, Sasha had said, but… “I’m… glad, then?”

Tim’s silent for a moment, and then nods. “Yeah. Me, too, I think.” He sits up. “I’m… yeah, I’m gonna go. Can you–”

“I’ll tell Elias you’ve got that stomach bug.”

“Oh, good. Won’t question that one.” He drains the rest of his tea, and hesitantly looks back at Jon. “You… you’re sure your wrist is gonna be okay?”

“I’m sure.” He’ll take it easy and put ice on it tonight, too. It’s his non-dominant, so he’s not particularly fussed over it. “I’ll take it easy.”

Tim smiles. It’s still a small thing, but… genuine, for the first time in awhile. Since maybe the sex. “Yeah, right,” he says. “Like you ever take it easy.”

“I will for you.” Those words just slip out. He wonders where he’s plucked them from, because it doesn’t sound like anything he’d usually say. But then again, it’s a weird day. Jon can hold himself to those standards for today, at least. _ For _ Tim, even, yes.

Tim looks a bit surprised, though. “I… alright. Ha. I _ must _ look like shit. Thanks. Just… thanks, Jon.”

“No problem,” Jon replies. _ I just hope it helps a little. _

Tim stifles a laugh and then goes. But he ruffles Jon’s hair before he does, affectionate and lingering there, close, in turns.

Jon wonders if he imagines that the motion means more than it appears. He would say he’s overthinking it, but… Tim knows he appreciates _ subtlety. _ So maybe it does mean more than either of them can find the words for.

… it’s an emotional day. For Tim, especially. Jon watches him go, and then he will finish his tea, and go find Elias to tell him Tim got ‘sick’ and had to leave. Then, he’ll go back to work and focus on forgetting the look on Tim’s face and promise himself he’ll do whatever it takes so he doesn’t have to face that kind of pain ever again– if only Jon can protect him. (How… dramatic, Jon.)

He doesn’t think he’s very good at taking care of people, anyway, but, for Tim, he’ll put in as much as he can. God knows all of them have for him.

Jon pours himself another cup of tea, and heads back to work.

**Author's Note:**

> _"I know you feel broken, so I won't tell you to have a wonderful day. Instead I whisper these words to you: "just hold on." As the darkest days of grief start to get less, the sun will rise again for you.”_
> 
> __and that's all for the small trio of specifically Danny's death related JonTim in this au. maybe onto some happy stuff now? :D or maybe not? XD (probably back to actual high school age next though!)


End file.
